


carry me back

by Lizzen



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Kissing, M/M, Pining, Post-Black Panther (2018)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-25
Updated: 2018-02-25
Packaged: 2019-03-23 15:25:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,873
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13790574
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lizzen/pseuds/Lizzen
Summary: Post-Black Panther.Steve sees the press conference and is on a plane for Wakanda the next day.





	carry me back

**Author's Note:**

> Love to my th_esaurus

Steve sees the press conference and is on a plane the next day.

*  
“I want to see him,” he says to the Dora Milaje who greet him. The one in the lead eyes him carefully, adjusts her stance to something more formal, tense.

“Our king isn’t here,” she says. “You will wait.”

“I--” he attempts.

“You will wait,” she echoes.

He wasn’t thinking of T’Challa when he said “him”; but there’s no room for discussion. He follows them into the palace. 

*  
Days pass. He’s visited by the various and sundry of T’Challa’s advisors and entourage. Curious to see the disgraced _captain of america_. He’s happy to respond to all questions, no matter the nature of them. Even if he winces with discomfort. More than one asks about Asgard and their technology and their alliance with Earth. His heart is sore for news of Thor. He answers what he can.

*  
One of T’Challa’s council requests to spar with him. Steve agrees with a small degree of nerves. While out of practice, he’s stronger than the strongest man. And this councilor, apparently the leader of an until-recently apostate tribe, is obviously a distinguished warrior of certain consideration.

“A shield is still your choice?” the man, M’Baku, asks. “As you wish.”

The fight takes some time and Steve is more than impressed. It ends with a chokehold and Steve taps out, grateful.

M’Baku says, his voice warm: “You fought well. For an American.”

Steve smiles. Thinks of how strong an army is with this man in the lead.

He looks up at the audience, looking curious and amused. That’s when he sees the princess for the first time.

*  
“I’m Shuri,” she says, reaching out with her hand. “He’s not here.”

Steve nods, understanding. “The king has important duties, now especially.”

“Not T’Challa,” she says and her lips turn up into a knowing smile. That’s when his heart twists. “I fixed him,” she says simply. “You don’t have to worry anymore.”

He stares at her, this knowledge knocking about in his head. Destabilizing him. “May I--” he attempts.

“No,” she says, blithe as can be. “You cannot.”

*  
She arranges for him to see the city. As if he’s here on vacation. As if he needs to marvel at Wakanda’s might and its truth.

To be fair, his eyes become saucers; drinking in the color, the expanse, the innovation of it. He almost forgets to think of--

*  
T’Challa is standing, a perfect silhouette in his room, when he returns.

“Your majesty,” Steve says, and nods his head in kind regard. “Thank you for--”

“You want to take him back with you,” T’Challa interrupts. “You don’t think he’s safe here anymore.”

“I--”

“The world may be watching us now, and for the first time in our history, but I swear Sergeant Barnes is safer here than any hole you’re hiding in.”

“You can’t promise that,” Steve says. “You have enemies like never before.”

T’Challa lifts his hand. “Let them come.” And a smile lights his face. “Now let’s talk about you.”

*  
A new shield is in his hands the next day; no reflection of American coloring, just the silver gleam of vibranium. “My brother kept me from improving it,” Shuri sighs out. “Just a shield, no bells, no whistles. Boring as they come.”

“It’s perfect,” Steve breathes quietly, awed by it. It’s weighed and measured for him, unlike his last. It fits him. What wonders he will do with this gift. “I’m in your debt.”

Shuri smiles. “You are, Cap. And don’t think I won’t collect.”

*  
He stands under steaming hot water, so long that his skin turns red. There was an errant thought to take his hand to his dick, find some relief. He closes his eyes. Thinks of blue eyes and immediately shuts the water off.

*  
In the morning, there are piles of eggs and bacon, and a no-nonsense princess. There’s something like a casual interrogation in her conversation. She asks for details about topics and subjects that were obviously collected from--

“I was smaller than you,” he agrees. “Considerably weaker.”

“I’d’ve like to seen that,” she laughs. And then: “He talks about it often. Your early days together.” Steve breathes in sharply and she watches him, curious and calculating. “He talks about you often.”

Steve sets his jaw. “When can I see him?”

Her gaze holds him; she’s still sizing him up. “When he’s ready.”

*  
The border tribe requests his presence for an army training procedure. W’Kabi greets him at the foot of the airship. “You are most welcome,” he says. “I hope we can teach you a few things.”

Steve nods his head and smiles when W’Kabi smiles.

The army drills relentlessly and Steve admires their techniques, and refuses the invitation for suggestion, adjustments. “Your force is remarkable,” he says. And then he sees their personal vibranium shielding. It takes his breath away.

*  
A feast follows. Steve sits in a place of honor and hates it, wishes he was sitting with the rank and file, listening to their tall tales and jokes. Drinking well-deserved spirits and feeling drunk on the intimacy of being brothers and sisters.

There’s an ache inside him; his long dead commandos, his traitorous strike team. His Avengers. All in the past now. He has his collection of allies, of course, and God knows what he’d do without Sam.

But staring at all this joy, he misses--

*  
Shuri is on the ship that collects him. “You’ll forgive us if we take the long way home.” She looks very displeased. “Someone’s put your picture on the internet, visiting the beautiful lands of the mysterious Wakanda. We must keep your presence hidden now.”

“I could--” he tries, but no. He’s not leaving without Bucky.

“You’re our guest,” she snaps. “And you’re under our protection. Just like him.”

He swallows. Honored.

*  
Sleep overtakes him, and he finds himself sinking deep into the guest bed. Dreams of running along the water on Coney Island, occasionally looking behind him to make sure Bucky is a step behind him. “Catch up,” he shouts and Bucky easily passes him, smiling rougishly as he does. Watches Bucky run faster, his form getting further and further away. Disappearing in the distance. And all Steve can do is stop and catch his breath, pain riddling his skin and muscle and bone. “Buck,” he whispers.

*  
Waking up hard is an inconvenience and he considers taking care of it. Getting his hand on his dick, heavy with an unfocused desire, and making the sensation flare out and come to a close; oh so quick. Instead, he leans his head back and thinks of paperwork and diplomatic affairs. Thinks of army drills and tedious SHIELD meetings.

He’s soothed and relaxed in a few moments. Breathes easily.

That’s when he sees the twinkle of light against metal near his table. He sits up so fast, he’s dizzy.

“Steve.” And his heartbeat seems to stop. There’s a man sitting in a lazy sort of position at his table. Steve drinks him in, surprised at how good he looks. Healthy, fit. Something content about his expression.

And there’s a brand new arm, shining bright in the morning sun. Steve sucks in air, a sharp inhalation. Unsure how he feels.

“Hey,” he says. There’s an urge to pinch himself, make sure he’s not still dreaming.

Bucky tilts his head to the side, appraising him. “You want breakfast or a run? Not sure how soft you’ve grown these days.” And he smiles.

Steve opens his mouth, shuts it. And gets up. Gets close. “I want to make sure you’re--” he says, and reaches out, grips Bucky’s shoulder. “Hey.”

Something changes in Bucky’s expression. “It’s me,” he says, quietly. “I’m okay.”

There’s an urge that Steve has in this moment; something he doesn’t, won’t, can’t act on. But Steve knows that if he did, if he had the courage to lean in, crush his lips against his best friend’s-- Bucky’s lips would taste so good.

*  
They spar after breakfast. It’s the best way to catch up, to measure Bucky’s progress. Bucky fights with a casual brutality, different than the intensity of days past. No agenda to best Steve, no good old boy rivalry. Not even a tease. Just a show of his power, not as strong as Steve’s but considerable. The arm is less of a weapon, more of an extension of himself. He carries it easily.

Steve lands on his back after Bucky’s feigned parry turned into a blow, and with a strange sort of intimacy, Bucky straddles him, gets his metal hand on Steve’s neck, squeezes slightly. Holds down one of Steve’s arms with his human hand.

He stares up at Bucky, begins to see white in the periphery of his vision but doesn’t struggle. They hold in that position till he slams his hand twice on the ground, just to look away. Slow his beating heart.

*  
They sit on one of the countless balconies and watch the hum and thrum of the city. Steve asks his questions and Bucky answers some of them. But there’s a peace in his silence. A peace in Bucky.

Steve’s lost the heart to ask him to go, to leave with him.

*  
That night Bucky follows him to his rooms. Steve notes that a bag, Bucky’s, is on the table. Bucky roots around in it for a toothbrush and Steve’s heart weakens. “You don’t--” he tries.

Bucky shrugs, heads to the bathroom.

There’s one bed, so this is going to be an interesting arrangement, he thinks. And offering “I’ll take the floor” dies on his mouth because something needles him, convinces him otherwise. They’ve slept in tighter quarters and the bed will dwarf the two of them anyway.

Soon: they’re on opposite sides of the bed, sinking into the mattress, and Bucky’s turned towards him, sleeping on his side. His eyes are closed. A familiar snore.

Steve doesn’t sleep for hours.

*  
Shuri takes breakfast with them in the morning. Chatters about her plans for Oakland as well as a facility in London. Sings songs of praise of the kids she’s working with; their ideas and passion.

Bucky slips so easily in the conversation, as if this is just the third act of a lengthy play between them. Dampening the ugly twinges of jealousy, Steve considers that Bucky hasn’t had a friend since they were fighting a world war. Considers that this is critical to his healing.

He excuses himself, doesn’t want to interrupt it. Doesn’t want to taint it.

*  
He’s in the shower when Bucky gets back. Bucky strides, nonchalant, into the bathroom. Takes a leak, washes up. Takes off his clothes and walks towards the shower door.

Steve hasn’t shared a shower with Bucky in decades, wonders why he’s suddenly so skittish. But he helps push the shower door open, let him inside. Moves over so Bucky can stand under the water, eyes closed. That’s when Steve allows himself to stare.

When Bucky’s eyes open, Steve’s resolve is set. “I should go,” he says. Wonders how fast Nat could send for him.

Bucky stares for a long moment before reaching for the shampoo, as if they’re talking about banal things. “What if you didn’t. What if you stayed.”

“What if I lived my days as a pampered fugitive in a country whose resources and time are better spent elsewhere?” Steve says. Sighs. “And you don’t need me.”

Something changes, something wild alights in Bucky’s eyes. He looks-- Steve knows this look. Steels himself. Shames himself for causing it.

“No, that’s--” Bucky starts. He breathes in sharp. “Don’t.” His human hand shakes.

Something stutters in Steve’s heart. “You’re safe here, safer than I--”

“When have _we_ ever been safe?,” Bucky says and moves, one foot in front of the other, towards Steve. With a stalking, predator after prey, sort of pace. Soon Steve can feel the heat of his body radiate out. He’s so warm.

“Buck--” he attempts before Bucky does something truly surprising, shattering: he kisses Steve on the mouth, and with a shocking gentleness. Steve’s lips part and Bucky takes advantage, swipes his tongue along his lower lip before pressing in, tasting him proper. Steve’s hasn’t felt this weak since--

Bucky pulls away. Says: “Don’t leave me, not again.” Steve gasps out but Bucky’s mouth is on him again and his hand grips his dick. “I’m not asking,” he says, darkly, and Steve surrenders.

*  
After, Bucky pulls out some beads that Steve’s noticed him and others wear. “Shuri?” he says, and Steve hears her chirp back a “sooooo?” He blushes then and Steve wonders at their relationship, at the tenor of their conversations. Is reminded, a little, of him and Nat. “We need a few days,” Bucky says and Shuri cackles, pleased as punch.

“You _have_ to tell me--” she starts and Bucky cuts off the comm. Looks sheepishly at Steve.

Steve can’t help himself because this is something-- this is something he can do now. He strides across the room. Gets in his space as if he’s always been there. Presses in for the sweetest kiss he can give.

When Bucky turns his head, leans his temple against Steve’s forehead, he sucks in a breath and then says: “You’re going to fuck me today.” And when Steve flinches, he adds: “I’ll walk you through it. Don’t panic.” Steve tenses, panicking anyway. “Stop.”

There’s handjobs in a shower and there is--

“I’ve never--”

He laughs, but not without a kindness. “I know, Cap. I know.” And that’s when his kisses turn filthy.

*  
Bucky’s kissed him till he’s hard again, and Steve is losing his grip a little; so unstable from desire.

Of course, _of course_ , he’s loved Bucky all this time. There’s no surprise in that. But wanted him? This is new. Or: it’s an old feeling with a name now. Maybe he wanted Bucky all along.

Bucky lubes up his fingers, starts to prepare and Steve’s heart stutters again. Watching him, Bucky stops, pulls out and takes Steve’s hand in his. “You do it.” And he gets Steve’s fingers wet.

Following direction, Steve presses two fingers in, winces when Bucky hisses but continues when he nods, orders him to continue. It’s not what he ever thought it would be like -- this intimacy. He kisses Bucky then, fucking in with his fingers and gasping when Bucky gasps out. They continue like this, until Bucky’s ready for three fingers, stretched out further.

They get distracted by kisses; small ones, sweet ones. Heated ones. Intricate and complex ones. Kisses that feel like flame, and some like burning coals. Steve is sure he’ll never get enough of Bucky’s mouth--

“I’m done waiting,” Bucky says suddenly, and looks down between Steve’s legs. “And so are you.”

When Bucky positions them, Steve isn’t good with it. “I want to see your face,” he says with a weakness. Bucky stares at this, a soft look in those blue eyes.

They readjust and Steve nods, happy with it. So happy to see--

He pushes in slowly, so slowly that Bucky’s hips jut against him. “I’m not made of glass,” he says and then gasps out when Steve pushes the rest of the way in, firmer this time.

A rhythm is set, and Steve can barely believe it. Thrusting deep inside him, watching the desire in Bucky’s eyes, in the shiver of his body. Bucky hums a little and juts up against Steve at times, seemingly lost in pleasure. Steve breathes in, out, and lets go. Lets himself give into the act, to every covetous thought he’s had about Bucky. To the feeling, the craving he’s had for days (weeks, months, decades). To allow himself this mercy; to love Bucky in this way.

When he comes, he pulls out, pulsing terribly like a schoolboy. He’s gasping, all wild and uneven, unable to handle, to tolerate the expanse of feeling. It’s too much; it’s everything. Still, he’s got a hand on Bucky’s dick immediately and pumps fast before he spills out. He says Steve’s name in a repetition that makes him ache all over.

After he quiets, Bucky says: “Do you know how long,” and he stops to breathe in slowly. “I’ve wanted that.”

Steve stares, unable to speak.

Bucky closes his eyes, leans back. “It’s been a long time, let’s just say that.” He sighs out. “Now, if you don’t kiss me, again, I’m going to--”

*  
In two days time, Steve learns every inch of Bucky’s body. What he likes and doesn't like. How often he likes it. It’s-- it’s a lot to take in.

He’s never felt this light, this open before in his life.

*  
Bucky’s beads make a little noise and he grabs them. “Your highness,” Bucky says in greeting, smiling wide. “I’m not--”

“He’s coming,” is all the warning they get before the door chimes.

It’s T’Challa and a host of Dora Milaje. “There’s a problem in New York,” he says. “We need you. Both of you.”

And every one of his senses sharpen, his body at full attention. The soldier in his bones coming back to life after a few days respite. He nods, takes a look at Bucky, standing in a similar fashion. Looks into T’Challa’s worried eyes. “How can we help?”

**THE END**


End file.
